Forwarded by the ASC-VSO Posted: Thu, 15 Apr 2004 05:09:35 GMT In: alt.startrek.creative From: Gabrielle Lawson Title: Oswiecim Author: Gabrielle Lawson (inheildi@earthlink.net) Series: DS9 Part: REP 35/42 Rating: [PG-13] (Violence) Codes: Chapter Fifteen The transporter room was crowded again. Sisko was there. He had been there since Salerno had beamed up just after roll call. Salerno was waiting there as well, though he had taken the time to shower and change back into his Starfleet uniform. Two nurses were there, informed of the injuries inflicted on Jordan by the *kapo.* Kira was there just because she wanted to be. In fact, she was handling the transporter controls. Thomas was there, too, since she was their expert on concentration camps. They all waited for nearly a half an hour before the call came for transport. The rest of the away team had already beamed back up, having had no success in finding the doctor. Novak had reported though that Crematoria IV was completed. When Jordan materialized on the pad, he had his back to the crowd. Sisko could see a bruise already forming on the back of his shaved head. Jordan turned, a look of shock on his bruised face. He looked as bad as Sisko had feared, though Salerno had tried to prepare them. The nurses moved forward quickly to sit him down. "His arm is broken," one of them reported. "Possible concussion." Jordan pushed them away and stood up again. "You can't treat it! I've got to go back. Sir, he's there. I saw him." The nurses froze. Everyone did. Kira and Sisko looked at each other. It was something they had hoped for, but it hadn't seemed real that someone would just beam up and say they'd seen Bashir. "Where?" "I can show you on the map," Jordan answered. He moved to the transporter console and pulled up an image of Auschwitz on the display. He pressed a few keys, then stopped. He turned his head back to the nurses. "I won't let you treat it, but I could use something for the pain." They obliged with a hypospray, and he continued, zooming in on the section of camp where he had been. He pointed to one of the rectangular bars that marked the barracks there. "He was there, sitting outside until curfew." Sisko watched the display, memorizing the location. "You're sure it was him?" Jordan turned back around. "Yes, sir. I didn't get a good look at him, but he was speaking English, and the accent was there. He was talking to another prisoner. I could hear it all. It's definitely him. He was talking about the future, about traveling among the stars." Kira and Sisko shared a look again. "He was talking about that?" Kira asked. "What about the timeline?" Jordan shook his head. "He died," he explained. "The other guy. He died. I think that's why he told him all that, because he was dying. I think they were friends. I can go back in the morning, to his barracks." Sisko thought about that. Bashir could be back on board by morning. But Thomas was shaking her head. "No, you can't." Everyone turned to where she was standing in the back of the room. "Explain," Sisko ordered. She had been leaning on the wall, but she straightened up. "It's too dangerous. Lieutenant Jordan is already injured. There could be a selection in the morning. You never know. They'd select you for that arm," she told Jordan, "and you'd be sent to the gas." "Not if we're out before roll call," Jordan argued. Thomas still shook her head. "They lock the doors. Block arrest. There is no roll call, and you can't leave the building. You've been lucky so far. But you would have probably passed before. Not now." "What about Bashir?" Kira asked. "He could be in a selection, too." Thomas shrugged. "He's been there for six weeks, and he's not in quarantine. He's already been through selections." Jordan held up his arm. "A *kapo* could kill him at work." Thomas nodded. "Could. But no one has yet. Morning just wouldn't be a good time anyway. He's probably never alone then. There's only a short amount of time between reveille and roll call. There are, what, eight hundred men in that barracks? Would you have time to even speak to him?" Jordan didn't answer. He didn't want to answer because he didn't like the question. Sisko didn't either. He had been listening the whole time, but had not joined in the debate. The away team reports confirmed what Thomas was saying. Morning was a mad rush to take care of physical needs before roll call. And he really didn't want Jordan to go back down there. He'd decided that before he left Dax to return to the bridge. One man held prisoner was enough. They weren't going to risk losing another. But no other away team member could get that close to Bashir. The SS had stayed clear of the barracks most of the time, for fear of lice and typhus. "You'll be staying, Lieutenant," Sisko stated. "Get that arm taken care of. You said he was sitting outside, alone except for that one man?" Jordan nodded. "Yes, the others had already gone in. The dying man came back out, but Bashir was there the whole time." "Did he say anything to make you believe he'd be back there tomorrow night?" Jordan thought about this for awhile, rubbing his forehead with his good hand. "He said, 'I come to look at the stars.' Not 'I came.' That makes it sounds like he does that often. "Good," Sisko said. His mind was made up. "It will have to do. I want someone to keep an eye on him at all times. I'll go down to get him tomorrow night." "Captain," Kira began immediately, "I don't think--" Sisko held up a hand to stop her. He would accept no arguments on this point. He'd been sitting on this ship for weeks reading reports of the search. He needed to go down himself. Besides, he wasn't going to take any chances. "It will be dark, and I don't plan on being there for long. I'm going, end of debate." The next morning, Leo was dressed in stripes. While uglier than the civilian clothes he'd been given, they were warmer. He had thanked Bashir for providing them. Max was thankful too, though he knew where the stripes had come from. He had watched Szymon leave the night before, and he had watched Bashir return. Bashir had even stopped to point one of the men on the floor to Szymon's vacated spot on the bunk. The others there complained, but were too tired to argue. Bashir, as usual, said nothing, but his eyes and the extra uniform had told Max that Szymon had died. An SS officer was standing in the road watching the barracks when they went out. It made everyone nervous, and they ran to the latrine or to the *Appellplatz.* No one wanted to be seen as slow in front of the SS even though they weren't at work yet. But the SS made no move to punish anyone. He didn't even yell. He just watched. Max found it creepy. He thought that it might be Heiler, the peculiar guard who was obsessed with Bashir. He watched Bashir as they passed him on the way to roll call, but the Englishman showed no signs of even having seen him there. The SS didn't follow them to roll call though, and Max forgot about him in the agony of the twice daily *Appell.* It was a not a bitterly cold morning, but it was still enough to make him shiver. But the SS didn't like movement of any kind in the ranks. So Max tried to relax all his muscles. It stopped the shaking, but it only lasted a few minutes at a time. The count went slowly. Apparently there was a discrepancy in the numbers. It was not in Max's block though. His *Blockalteste* didn't run off with the others to find the missing man. A man somewhere behind him was beaten. He could smell the reason for it. The poor man had dysentery. Nearly everyone did, and Max knew that tomorrow it might be himself who was unable to hold it. Life was a very precarious thing. Max had it easier, physically, than some, like Bashir and Leo. Their *kapo* was sadistic and the work was hard. For Max, it was still hard work, but he could find things in the baggage he unloaded that made life easier. Heiler would never let Bashir go, Max was convinced, but he had already decided to talk to his own *kapo* today. Maybe he could get Leo transferred. Heiler seemed to have forgotten his tirade of the day before, but he had decided on a new trick. Whenever it seemed that no one was looking, the changeling would trade faces with someone Bashir knew. It would only last a second and only when he was watching. They were faces from the crew. She was insane. He had thought that before, but this was utterly ridiculous. What would she do if the other SS noticed? The prisoners might panic completely. Well, he had to admit, she was probably safe there. Most of the prisoners would never look an SS in the eye. The dog had noticed though, and he danced whenever Heiler came near. He barked and backed up, moved forward and seemed completely confused by the whole thing. The barracks was nearly done. Half the kommando was already working on the next one just beside it. Others were inside this one, building the lopsided bunks that would house three or four times more men than would actually fit in the barracks. Leo was with them, and Bashir envied him for at least being in a shelter. And on the ground. Bashir was still working on the roof. He fell twice because his shoes or hand had slipped off the ladder. But no one beat him for it this time. The *kapo* screamed but allowed him to get up on his own, all the while throwing furtive glances back at Heiler. She came to during the midday meal. First, Heiler had expelled everyone from the barracks where they had been able to sit on the half-finished bunks. Then she had found Bashir sitting outside. She dumped his soup out onto the ground and then stood directly in front of him. Bashir kept his eyes below the level of the top of Heiler's boots, but he also noticed the stares of the rest of the kommando. Most showed suspicion. The *kapo*'s stare showed hatred. Only Leo looked concerned. Speaking in English with his practiced German accent, Heiler asked him how he was doing. "Having a good day, I hope." Then he dropped the pleasantries. "Have you noticed there are more SS around here these days? Must be something to do with the gas chambers. Number IV is working now. If I heard correctly, the first to use it will be the Gypsies. But, don't worry," she added, "your turn will come." Heiler started to walk away but stopped and turned back. "I saw your friend Simon today," he said, pronouncing the name wrong. "And I saw his clothes. Tell me, who is your new friend? Perhaps I should introduce myself." She would do that if he didn't answer. She probably would do it even if he did answer, but he knew his chances of distracting her were better if he spoke. "I don't have any friends," Bashir told her. "Yes, you do," Heiler argued. "He's right over there." His hand, with the whip held firmly in its grip, pointed toward Max's brother-in-law. Leo saw it, since he'd been watching the whole time, and cringed, burying his face in his bowl. "He's wearing Simon's clothes," Heiler continued. "You gave them to him." "He was cold." "So kind of you. Tell me, was Simon dead before or after you stole his clothes?" Emotional abuse was a minor thing at present. Bashir felt no guilt over Szymon's death. He didn't answer. But Heiler wasn't willing to give up the conversation. "Does he know he's wearing a dead man's clothes?" "We're all wearing dead men's clothes," Bashir argued, keeping his voice calm and even, almost a monotone, "even you." "*Touche,*" Heiler laughed. "Very well then. Enjoy your lunch." Bashir smirked at her sense of irony, but only after she'd turned. Lunch here was never something to enjoy, even after weeks of hunger. And it wasn't even lunch now, it was part of the mud between his feet. The original plan had been that only Novak would be on the ground. Three others were uniformed and ready just in case Bashir got lost in the crowd. Those three hadn't been able to find him during the morning though, and they returned to the ship that afternoon. Novak returned too, but with plans to beam back down in the evening to watch for Bashir returning from roll call. Sisko spent the day with O'Brien, checking and rechecking the systems. They planned to leave as soon as Bashir was safely on board. The warp drive was ready, though still not up to the specs that O'Brien wanted. The sensors too, had improved, but not by much. Without the forward array there was little more to be done. Dax was already working on the trajectory that would get them home. More worrisome were the impulse engines. They were working, but the jump would damage them if they weren't buffered. Sisko didn't want to have to crawl to Earth on thrusters, especially when members of his crew needed medical care. Nohtsu, he remembered, was still in stasis, and he told O'Brien to make sure that power to the stasis chambers was not interrupted either. There were still plenty of minor problems to occupy the hours, Sisko found. Replicators were low priority outside the mess hall. Sisko had four of them repaired by dinner time. Power would be cut from them for the jump, but Sisko hadn't fixed them to be used. He had been killing time. Kira caught him at it when she was working on the environmental controls for the same reason. Since they were both there, he invited her to dinner, produced by one of his newly-repaired replicators. The replicator was in the ready room, an area they hadn't used much because of power rerouting. Considering the length of their stay, the mess hall had taken priority since every member of the crew would need to use it at some point. The ready room was cold, since environmental and life support had been cut intermittently. But there was a table and some chairs, and the replicator managed a passable fettuccini alfredo. It was quiet, too. In less than a day, the entire ship had taken on a new atmosphere. People smiled in the corridors and told jokes as they worked. They talked about their families and the station and about returning. The tension had eased now that they knew they were going home. "I'll need to call Odo," Sisko was saying, "as soon as we return." "He's probably already called," Kira told him. "There will probably be several messages waiting for you when we get there." "I've been thinking about what to do once we get there, Major." Sisko took a bite of pasta and washed it down with coffee. The replicator had decided that it didn't know any other beverages. "I've told Dax to try and get the ship back as close as possible to the time we left without meeting ourselves coming and going. But still, it took us nearly a week to get here. And the ship will take time to repair. I don't want to leave Odo out there all alone. We are still at war. I need to get back to the station, and I can't wait the two or three weeks for the *Defiant* to make it back." "What do you have in mind?" Kira asked. "We'll need replacements, too, for the casualties," Sisko continued. "I want you to stay with the ship and whatever crew you need to get her back once she's fixed. I'll take the rest and get passage on a starship back to the station." Kira put her fork down and looked at the captain. "And what would I do in the meantime?" Sisko laughed, and it felt really good. Sometimes he thought Kira just didn't know how to take a break. "Take a vacation," he told her. "You haven't really been to Earth before, have you?" "I've been there," she contended. "We were there for that dinner. The Chief and I had to go decade-hopping to find you and Dax and Julian." "Our Earth," Sisko specified, still smiling. "Off the ship." Kira opened her mouth to argue, but closed it again, allowing herself to smile. "Not off the ship." "Well, then, this will be your chance. It really is a nice place." Sisko buttered another piece of bread. "I'm sure I won't be able to leave right away. We should all go to my father's restaurant for dinner. The whole senior staff, including Julian." "It sounds wonderful. We haven't had a Sisko dinner in awhile." Sisko laughed. "I promise, he serves more than coffee there." Bashir hadn't noticed any particular increase in SS around the camp, despite the completion of the crematorium. He could see the chimneys though as he and Leo returned with the kommando. It was already spewing out smoke. The top glowed red where fire and smoke emerged. It had started. The pyres still continued to burn as well, and the acrid stench thickly pervaded the *Appellplatz* while ash rained down like snow. Again, the roll call was long, stretching on into the night and threatening to shorten the time before curfew. Leo had handled his second day at work better. Bashir assumed it was because of the clothes. He wasn't so cold, and Szymon's shirt was big enough to hide his hands from the wind and ice. Actually, with the exception of lunch, Leo had performed his part very well. He practically melted into the mass of faceless prisoners. He knew to gravitate toward the center of everything, not to be on an outside edge. He was unnoticeable. Max had probably tutored him. Bashir wondered if Max had told him about Sophia and Hana. As one more day slowly crawled out of existence, Bashir daydreamed about replicators. They had become magical devices to him even though he understood the basic mechanics of them. But what they appeared to do was produce food from thin air. Any kind of food, so long as it was programmed into memory. Huge amounts of food. Food with flavor. Food with nutritional value. And tea to drink, or coffee, anything warm. Or even cold. A tall glass of orange juice. Bashir was sure his mouth wouldn't remember what to do with such flavor as a glass of orange juice. Finally, the count was over. Bashir was even hungrier now, and he scolded himself for giving in to his daydreaming. *It can't hurt,* he argued with himself. *I'll never get to eat stuff like that again. I might as well dream it.* *But it will only depress you,* the sterner side contested. *Stick to reality.* *Reality is much more depressing.* He found he couldn't argue with that. Now he saw the SS. There was one watching the road that led toward the barracks. But it still didn't seem to be enough to merit the changeling's remark, so he ignored the officer and went quickly to the barracks. Max, as usual, was keeping look out for them. He already had his ration. He also had cheese from the transport he had unloaded that day. Bashir took his share of stale cheese and gnawed at it hungrily while he waited in line for his rations. Leo was right behind him doing the same. He got his rations and retreated outside, away from the crowd. A few dozen men still lingered outside, but most had gone in since the snow started falling with the ash. Julian crouched down on his ankles and ate his food. The cheese, not surprisingly, was the best part of the meal. The rest consisted of rancid meat that Bashir couldn't even identify and the awful clay that the camp passed off as bread. He liked his daydreams better. They lasted longer, too. The rations were barely more than a few bites and were quickly gone. Once he was finished, Bashir tucked his hands under his arms. It was a cold night. They all were, but this one seemed especially so. He wondered what month it was. He guessed March, but it might have turned into April already without his knowing it. It should be close to spring, he thought, though it seemed a foreign concept in Auschwitz. The smoke was heavy, but Bashir could no longer see the sources of the smoke. He could see an orange glare against the horizon though. The chimneys, the ones he had worked on, were also blocked from his vision, but he knew they would soon be fired up as well. *Best not to think about it,* he told himself. He couldn't see a single star through the smoke, but he kept watching anyway. He would have to go back inside soon enough, both because of the cold and because of the *Blockalteste.* The others already had. But he liked to stay and look at the sky. In some small measure, it helped to think that the *Defiant* was still up there somewhere, even though he knew they had probably left. It was like the daydreams, a little less depressing than reality. "Julian?" Bashir jerked back, nearly falling over in the snow at sound of his name. Instinctively, he reached out to catch himself and instantly regretted it as pain flared in his hand and shoulder. He turned cautiously toward the direction of the whisper. At first he didn't see anyone, and then a dark figure edged toward him in the shadows. He froze in place and watched suspiciously as the figure crawled over next to him. A small shape caught the light in the vicinity of the figure's chest. A lighter patch covered the figure's shoulders. And then he could see who it was--or who it was supposed to look like. *Sisko.* His eyes looked at Bashir with concern. *Very convincing.* "Julian," he said carefully, and then he smiled. "I think it's time to go home." Bashir stared at him blankly. "I won't fall for that." It was not the first time the changeling had ever impersonated one of his friends. She'd been doing it all day. She had never bothered to actually try and convince him she was someone else though. This was new. Still he would put nothing past her, not after his trip to Auschwitz I and their subsequent meetings. She'd even impersonate a prisoner to get to him. The changeling-Sisko's smile faded, and his expression turned to confusion. "Julian? It's me, Captain Sisko." "I know who you are," he replied quickly and tried to back away. "I'm going back inside." "No! Wait!" Sisko sounded exasperated and half angry. Bashir halted, unsure of whether she would strike out at him or not. She was so unpredictable. It was part of her hold on him, he knew, but he could think of no way to counteract it. "What's wrong?" he asked. Bashir said nothing, and then it seemed as if a light played over Sisko's face. "The changeling?" he whispered. "It's here." Bashir felt his pulse pick up in his chest, which was still decidedly painful. What if it really was Sisko? *No,* he scolded, *that's just what she wants you to believe.* Sisko inched forward again. "It's me, Julian. I'm not the changeling, and I'll prove it to you." His hand moved, and Bashir heard a familiar chirp sound even as it was muffled by Sisko's hand. "Sisko to *Defiant,* two to beam up." All of a sudden, Bashir found he couldn't breathe right. His heart pounded and he dared to hope that this really was his captain. The transporter effect caught him, and his whole body began to tingle. The darkness and the barracks behind him faded from his sight to be replaced by the near-blinding light and cleanliness of the *Defiant*'s transporter room. This time Bashir did fall over, though Sisko caught him, and he didn't hurt his arm again. He felt dizzy and thought for a moment that he would faint, but Sisko's grip was strong and held him like an anchor to consciousness. He thought he heard him tell someone to bring a blanket and a medkit, but it was muffled, like Sisko was speaking through a wall of gauze. "My God, it's you," Bashir heard himself whisper before he was even sure he could speak. He tried to stand up, but found that his legs had finally rebelled against him. They felt like rubber and refused to support him. So instead he just pushed himself back until he felt a wall against his right shoulder. The whole room seemed to be spinning, or maybe he was, and he needed the solidity of the wall to stay still. He leaned against the wall, covered his face with his one good hand, and tried to get his breath under control again. To Be Continued.... -- --Gabrielle I'd much rather be writing! http://www.stormpages.com/gabrielle/trek/ The Edge of the Frontier http://www.stormpages.com/gabrielle/doyle/ This Side of the Nether Blog: http://www.gabriellewrites.blogspot.com -- Stephen Ratliff ASC Awards Tech Support http://www.trekiverse.us/ASCAwards/commenting/ No Tribbles were harmed in the running of these Awards ASCL is a stories-only list, no discussion. Comments and feedback should be directed to alt.startrek .creative or directly to the author. Yahoo! Groups Links To visit your group on the web, go to: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/ASCL/ To unsubscribe from this group, send an email to: ASCL-unsubscribe@yahoogroups.com Your use of Yahoo! Groups is subject to: http://docs.yahoo.com/info/terms/ From ???@??? Mon Apr 19 23:39:31 2004 X-Persona: Status: U Return-Path: Received: from n9.grp.scd.yahoo.com ([66.218.66.93]) by robin (EarthLink SMTP Server) with SMTP id 1bfM5D3GB3NZFjX3 for ; Mon, 19 Apr 2004 20:38:29 -0700 (PDT) X-eGroups-Return: sentto-1977044-13434-1082432308-stephenbratliffasc=earthlink.net@returns.groups.yah